The Five Forms of Love
by p y n q u e
Summary: She loves this moment. She loves him. She loves his everything – how he snorts when he laughs, his usually sarcastic disposition, his smile, all of it. / Storge, eros, philos, thelema, and agape. Or, the five forms of love. For anyone who loves.


**a/n: **tried writing something happy, considering i don't know when i'll write something again.

if you'd like to know my status on fanfiction, read the note at the bottom of this.

the five forms of love. of course I have to put my favorite slash pairing in there. _agape_ is a flashback, assuming Bombalurina and Demeter are the daughters of Grizabella. i took my liberties with these. my sources conflicted one another, and showing the differences between _storge _and _philos _was hard. so i made _philos _more romantic.

**warnings: **slash (not intended to be incest) – if you don't want to read that, skip _thelema_. one-sided slash and use of the term 'no homo' in_ philos_. teen pregnancy in _storge_. necessary sexual themes in _thelema_. language. unedited.

* * *

><p><strong>Philos; <strong>_**brotherly love**_

He's at Plato's house on a Saturday night. Him, Plato, and a bunch of other toms strewn about his living room, with soda cans and video games and _totally not porn _magazines left all over the place, and multiple pizza boxes left on the coffee table. From the bathroom, he can hear their raucous laughter and the sounds of the television blaring – it brings a smile to his face. Until his eyes rest on a tube of lip-gloss.

His smile immediately vanishes, and he gingerly picks up the tiny object. He's sure as fuck it's not Plato's. Last time he checked, the tall tom's face didn't smell of artificial cherries, and his lips weren't _glimmering_. He's suddenly hit with a rush of jealousy and maybe a bit of sickness – he turns the faucet off and throws the lip-gloss in the trash.

He quickly makes his way back into the living room, when a particularly loud wave of laughter startles him. Curious, and the tube of lip gloss leaving his thoughts, he steps into the sickly light of the family room and sees the guys huddled around his phone, held by Mungojerrie.

"_Dude_, what the fuck _is _this?" Mungojerrie asks as his mirth subsides for a moment. He wipes a tear from his eye and shoves the phone in Pouncival's face. "Poetry?"

"I – uh," he doesn't know what to say. He opts for laughing with them. "Admetus asked me to write this shit for – I don't even know – Etcetera or something." He will not tell them the truth.

"Oh my god, bro – this is hilarious… _'Eyes shining in the moonlight'_?" Plato laughs, taking a swig of his coke. His face is slightly red from laughing so hard. Pouncival's face is red, too, but for completely different reasons. "I love you, dude. No homo," the tall tom says in between drinks. The other boys laugh, and Pouncival joins them uncomfortably.

_I love you too_, he thinks as he makes his way to the recliner, _yes homo_.

* * *

><p><strong>Thelema; <strong>_**sexual love**_

Moonlight pours in from a crack between the curtains. The air is thick and hot—the fan is off, and that would probably help, but both of the two are too lazy to get up and turn it off. There's a faint sound of waves crashing on the beach, partiers making their way back to the hotel after a night of revelry.

He sighs, breath shaking a bit, and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't want to go back home, back to the Jellicles and their gossip, their hurried lives. He doesn't want to go back to Demeter, as much as he loves her; he can't lie to her like this, and every time he sees her beautiful, frightened face, a sick, painful feeling settles in his stomach.

He wonders if she can tell what's going on. _Bro-hugs _that last a little too long; innuendos that mean more than one would think; glances exchanged from across the room. He'd think it would be obvious, especially to a queen as smart as Demeter — or even to a simple queenkit. After all, Munkustrap was never a good liar.

He sits up and swings his leg over the side of the bed—a sudden cold air sends shivers down his spine and tempts him to go get his robe. Instead, he pulls the curtains apart, looks out on the night. It's really quite pretty, in its own sad way—brightly glowing hotels, a black ocean, cars shining under the light. Much better than the dingy streets of whatever he gets to go home to.

"Up so early?" Comes Tugger's voice, light and dampened with sleep. "It's not even seven yet." Munkustrap hears the bed creak under shifting weight, feet hitting the tile floor. He feels a strong arm snake around his waist, pulls him closer.

"I don't want to go home," Munkustrap says. He sounds like a child, he knows.

"Neither do I. This sucks, doesn't it?" Tugger says lightly, presses a kiss to Munkustrap's neck.

"I'd think you'd like something like this," Munkustraps says. Tugger raises a brow. "It's…dangerous, uncertain. Thought you were into this kind of thing."

"This isn't the fun kind of uncertainty," Tugger explains, pressing kisses along Munkustrap's jaw. "The fun kind is screwing in a parking lot or something. Not going on a business trip and… well, screwing. In a hotel." Munkustrap chuckles; Tugger can feel it against his lips.

"I'll miss this." Munkustrap says. It almost makes him laugh—how girly they can be. It's all in good fun, till they have to go home and face the judging faces of their fellow Jellicles once again.

"…How's about a round two?" Tugger suggests, nipping at Munkustrap's ear. His hand trails down the silver tom's chest, fingers resting on the elastic of his boxers.

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

><p><strong>Storge; <strong>_**natural affection**_

Victoria wipes tears from her eyes, lip trembling violently. Jemima watches with sad eyes, pitying, and lays her small hand on the white queen's knee.

"It'll be all right, Vic," she says in a quiet voice. Victoria lifts her head and stares back for a moment, eyes red and puffy. A new batch of tears visibly builds up, spilling down Victoria's cheeks. She drops her head in her hands and a sob rips from her throat. "It's okay…"

"God, Jemima, I wish it was!" Victoria shouts, though her voice is muffled. Jemima sinks into herself, drawing her hand away from Victoria's knee. "I _wanted _her." The blue-eyed queen says quietly, sniffling. She slowly pulls her right hand away from her face and gingerly touches her stomach.

Jemima's eyes begin to water as well, but she furiously blinks the tears away. She can't cry – Victoria is the one who needs help. "I'm so sorry, Victoria…"

"Jemima, what if this means I can never have kids?" her voice slurs with tears, her hand gripping the fabric of her shirt. "I want a baby, Jemima, someday," her other hand moves over her mouth, fingers trembling. "I even wanted her now."

"I – I don't know what to say…"

Victoria lays her head on the smaller queen's shoulder. Jemima can feel hot tears through the fabric of her shirt, Victoria's frame shaking with every inhalation. She reaches around and places her hand on Victoria's back, patting gently. "Just be there, please – just be here," Victoria whispers. Jemima lets a sympathetic tear fall, licks it off her lip.

"I will."

* * *

><p><strong>Eros; <strong>_**romantic love**_

She looks into his eyes, blue with swirls of green and spots of gold. Her eyes trace over his lips and his eyebrows and his nose – he's beautiful, she thinks. She rests her forehead against his and closes her eyes, taking in the moment. The chilly nighttime air, the cool sand on her legs, the waves that engulf her feet in salty, cold water. The minty scent of his warm breath caressing her face, her cold hands held in his warm ones.

She loves this moment. She loves him. She loves his everything – how he snorts when he laughs, his usually sarcastic disposition, his smile, all of it. Her chest is filled with a comfortable warmth that may or may not really be there, but she loves that too.

Or, she just _loves_.

* * *

><p><strong>Agape; <strong>_**unconditional love**_

She feels worn. She does not glow as she used to, does not wake up every morning ready to take on the day. She is dull, her beauty tainted. She wakes in the morning with regret, wishing somewhere in the back of her mind that she hadn't opened her eyes.

But then, she sees their bright eyes. Her daughters, pieces of what she herself once was. Young and vibrant, wanting to take in all of life's lessons at once. Their high, melodious voices tangle together in an unruly song, telling her to _get up, get up, it's Sunday_, making her think of the days when she would sing on a stage, hypnotize the audience and imbued calm in peoples' hearts.

They remind her that she does have something to look forward to, other than tiny sequined dresses and dirty money – someday, she will see them graduating, wearing white dresses, bearing their own children. She will sit back in her chair, and watch with tired eyes her daughters go through their lives they way she wished she had gone through hers.

She may feel worn, and she may not glow, but her daughters are bright enough to keep her going.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **originally, _agape _was first and _thelema _was last, but i moved them around.

anyway, as for my fate on this site… i no longer have the love of writing or _CATS _that i used to. i'm completely different from the girl I was in 2008; i don't exactly like who I am now, but…i blame circumstance.

i wouldn't say this is goodbye. i will write occasionally, message people every now and then. (even if i don't post fics anymore, i did make some pretty good friends in this fandom.) but i won't be as big of a presence, i suppose, in the fandom anymore. (i really haven't been one for a very long time.)

So instead of bye, i say, see you on the flip side. hope you enjoyed.


End file.
